


Tears At My Soul

by NeuroWriter14



Series: Ways Back To You [8]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Do not repost, Episode: s03e06 Dolce, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27393088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14
Summary: After Will pulls out the knife in Florence, Hannibal takes him with the intention of bandaging him and possibly more. Except Will does something he doesn't expect.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Ways Back To You [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904167
Comments: 6
Kudos: 216





	Tears At My Soul

Will couldn't help but wonder it was always him who was shot. This wasn't the first time in Hannibal Lecter's presence, where Will was of half a mind to kill him, that he had been the one shot. First Jack and now, more than likely, Chiyoh. Hannibal had dragged the two of them from the square. He should be more used to the pain by now, but even as he moved along beside Hannibal, who supported most of his weight, he found his vision going white around the edges. He didn't know how far they went or for how long they walked until Will was being maneuvered up a flight of stairs and through a door.

Hannibal directed Will's body into a controlled fall on the couch. His arm was numb mostly below the wound. He didn't think it was too deep, but it was probably enough of a shock that the nerves in the lower part of his arm weren't responding correctly. Hannibal's face was stoic, doctorly, as he fisted his hands in the lapels of Will's jacket and began stripping him of it. Will cried out in pain, feeling the fabric tear away from the hole that was shot through two layers of clothes and then skin. Automatically, he leaned forward, seeking comfort in the man who had brought him the most pain.

He was shaking. Pain on more than one level was currently wreaking havoc throughout his body. And how strange it was that the pain dulled as he pressed his face into Hannibal's shoulder. Hannibal was steady, as he always had been. Even that night in his kitchen, while Hannibal clung to him during the sting of betrayal and Will's subsequent disemboweling; he was strong and steady. He was a rock in a sea of torment for Will, even if Hannibal was the one who caused the torment himself. 

Hannibal's hand came to the back of his neck, fingers pressing against his hair and Will wanted to sigh.

How strange. 

He was turning slightly before he knew what was happening. His mind and his body seemed to be working on two different paths, or maybe they were working on the same and Will hadn't yet realized it, as he pressed his lips against Hannibal's neck. It was barely a kiss, just a feather-light brush, but it was enough that Will felt the man's fingers flex on the back of his neck. 

He could feel the blood running down his arm, seeping into clothes and down onto his hand. He was incredibly warm. Will had always run hot, even when he wasn't suffering from encephalitis. It seemed heat was his body's way of trying to defend itself, as it warmed now. Sweat and blood pooled in his deadened hand. 

"I had to try," He whispered. "I didn't even care what the outcome would be." 

Hannibal said nothing. 

"Kill me if you want." He was pressing forward into the other man's neck. "But fuck me first." 

"Will," Hannibal began. His voice was tight, a mix of emotions clogging his normal snappy retorts. Even in Will's mind, Hannibal was always the same. He remembered being at Castle Lecter and feeling himself sharing a knowing smile with a man who wasn't there. Will wanted that man, for however long he had left to live. He was on death's door anyway, the knife likely somewhere else in the room. He had felt Hannibal's body fall protectively over his as he went down. He assumed the knife was visible as he did. 

"Please," He shifted his head, his body feeling heavier and heavier by the second. It was a monumental task to press his lips to Hannibal's jaw. He had always admired his jawline, his cheekbones. Everything about Hannibal really. "Please."

"Will," Hannibal began again, pulling him away slightly.

He tried to resist, he really did. He wanted nothing more than to stay buried against the other man. He wanted to crawl inside him and never leave. Of course, that would be a possibility soon enough. The only way he knew Hannibal would forgive him or even begin to move on from whatever twisted, conjoined relationship they had was if he consumed Will. For once, he would see the act as cannibalism. Will understood a long time ago that the Chesapeake Ripper — that Hannibal — didn't see his kills and subsequent consumption as cannibalism. His victims were no different than pigs to him. He could consume both, feeling himself superior to the pig and the man. But not with Will. Hannibal had labeled Will as his equal almost two years ago when they first met in Jack's office. How far he had come.

How far they had come.

He remembered standing in the Hobbs's cabin, looking at Marissa Schurr's body with Hannibal leaning over his shoulder, examining with him.

Perhaps they hadn't come as far as Will thought.

Will had been hesitant to meet Hannibal's eyes then, as Jack spoke somewhere behind them. But the moment he did, he was trapped in the other's gaze. He was expecting judgment or even fear, something terrible, in Hannibal's eyes when he looked at him. But all he was met with was acceptance and emotion Will didn't quite want to evaluate. So, he pushed it to the side. He ignored it even when everything within him told him he shouldn't. Even when everything within him began to feel something similar. He told himself, later, that his mirroring of Hannibal's emotions toward him was because he was sick and not because of what he actually felt. Yet when he had a chance to kill Hannibal again, a gun to his head and Hannibal for once fearing death, he couldn't do.

Hannibal coveted him. And Will coveted Hannibal just the same.

Hannibal succeeded in pressing him back against the couch, even as Will struggle to move forward. He couldn't stop himself from examining Hannibal's face. He was torn up from the railroad tracks, a rather harsh fall onto hard material. But Hannibal was also banged up. Judging from how Jack looked when Will saw him, he assumed it was Jack who had done the damage to Hannibal. It wasn't exactly surprising. But when he looked at Hannibal, he didn't notice the cuts and bruises. He didn't notice the slight exhaustion, an emotion he would have only shown Will. He didn't even notice the way Hannibal was watching him so intently out of the corner of his eye.

Instead, he noticed how much his earlier statement had been correct. They were conjoined. The injuries to Hannibal's face were on the opposite side of his own. Together, they formed a perfectly damaged body. 

Or a perfectly intact one. 

He lunged then, using the last of his strength to wrap his uninjured arm around Hannibal, cupping the back of the other's neck and pulling him forward. He leaned and their lips crashed. 

Hannibal reacted instantly, kissing him back with the same fervor Will tried to push into the kiss. He noted that Hannibal was on the ground in front of him, kneeling as he tended to Will.

It was only then that he truly understood. 

He tightened his grip, kissing the other until he began to feel himself grow lightheaded. He wasn't breathing, he wasn't thinking. Not anymore. He was only feeling and acting. And everything within him was lunging for Hannibal, begging to be held and taken. Begging to be seen and known and to know in return. 

They finally broke apart, chests heaving and eyes dilated. Will leaned back, shaking slightly.

"Do what you have to do." 

He would die. And it would be at Hannibal's hand. Hannibal would never be free of him then. Just as he carried Mischa with him, he would carry Will too. Forever a part of him. 

How fitting. 

He closed his eyes as he settled back against the couch. Hannibal would fix him up. And then he would die. 

He felt the needle slip just under his arm, and his vision began to fade slightly. He should have protested, should have tried to fight back. But he was oddly content. If he was to die, he could find no better choice than by Hannibal Lecter's hand. 

He was unconscious before he fully understood his own conclusion.

* * *

Will Graham was an enigma. A mystery. A puzzle that Hannibal constantly tore at to solve, only to find it shifted slightly making him unreadable once again.

He likely shouldn't have carried Will in his condition, but they would have been found soon enough and neither of them was ready to deal with the consequences of that. Jack was on their tails, Hannibal's especially. And Mason Verger not far behind him. Given Pazzi and his failed attack on Hannibal, he had to assume that others would soon be bought as Pazzi was. Perhaps even others in the police. There was a race to find Hannibal Lecter, and Will had won. 

Of course, Will had won.

Hannibal was watching him as the other slept, wondering what exactly was running through his mind as his eyes flickered behind his eyelids. Will had been so content to let Hannibal kill him. He suggested it, allowed it, permitted him. And when he didn't receive the result of his request, he instead surprised Hannibal once more by pulling him into a kiss. And Hannibal had returned the kiss. At the moment, he was trying to be chivalrous. Will was in no condition to truly consent to any further intimacy between him. And the one thing he would never do was take away that form of Will's autonomy. 

He had torn into the other man, torn at his mind and his sense of being, trying to bring out the same type of monster within him that matched Hannibal's. But Will's monster wasn't exactly the same. Much like Hannibal, he reveled in blood and death. They spoke the same languages. But Will was a different type of predator. Hannibal wasn't afraid to use his hands when it came to a kill, but Will bathed in blood and intimacy. He was a different kind of animal than Hannibal, evidenced by Randall Tier. 

He had admitted to Hannibal that if he killed him, he would do it with his hands.

Which is why, in hindsight, Hannibal knew Will's attempt with the knife was lacking. He didn't want to kill him, not really. And even in his kitchen, he had admitted that he didn't want to take Hannibal's life. Will, sitting on the floor and bleeding, had admitted as best he could that he wanted Hannibal alive. 

They were outside of Florence by now, by the time Hannibal finally stopped dragging Will around. This next part, whatever was to become of it, was going to be delicate. And while he longed to show Will Florence, right now there were too many pairs of eyes searching for him.

Now, searching for them.

Bedelia would be fine. Chiyoh was a ghost. Those two could handle themselves. 

But Jack was still watching. He would likely have found all the bandages Hannibal left behind, the bloodied rags that Hannibal had used to figure clean Will's wound, and then his arm. He had left them on purpose.

Let Jack think the worst. It would make him angry, his searching would be frantic, thinking that Hannibal had done the worst. 

It would keep eyes directed away from them, which is where Hannibal wanted right now. 

Will's eyes flew behind his eyelids as Hannibal sat in a chair he had pulled to the bedside. He was certain Will woke up at one point during the night — he had been sound asleep as Hannibal commandeered a car and drove them from the city — but seeing as Will woke to find himself alive and likely Hannibal asleep next to him, he had drifted back to sleep and stayed there. Hannibal had woken eventually, his body aching but his heart surprisingly lightweight compared to the burden of the last few months.

At night, he dreamt of Will's face, seeing him behind his eyelids as he sat on the floor of his kitchen. There was something within the depths of those eyes, something that Hannibal only now saw. 

He had forgiven Will for his betrayal, as much as he had longed to be wrong about it. He had even admitted to Bedelia that he wasn't certain which of them was the betrayer and the betrayed. They were so wound together, conjoined as Will said, that he wasn't certain if a betrayal against one wasn't also a betrayal against themselves.

Will finally stirred, shifting in the bed. At first, he seemed unwilling to wake. He lied there, perfectly still after having turned his head to one side. But his breathing was deeper and his eyes no longer flying. 

Hannibal wanted to draw him. What a sight he would make under Hannibal's careful hand, just as he did now in the world. 

Will turned his head again eventually, blinking at the ceiling. 

Hannibal was quiet until Will's eyes dropped to him. 

"How are you feeling?" 

"Like I've been shot and thrown off a train." Hannibal felt his lips twitch at the dry humor.

Will didn't bother moving, only shifted his head to see Hannibal better. Hannibal rested a hand on his knee to keep himself steady. There were only two ways this would end. With anyone else, there might be more options, including either of them leaving to be on their own from now on. But given who he was and who Will was, he doubted a polite separation would be likely. They would leave together, or neither would leave. 

"Decided what you'll take yet?" Will turned back to the ceiling. "My heart?" He seemed to be thinking. "No. Maybe my brain." He seemed to be satisfied with that train of thought. "Chew on physically what you've only digested mentally. Would be fitting." 

Hannibal felt himself smirk. How well Will knew him. And how well he knew Will. The other was doing what he did best, climbing into the minds of others. He loved the darkness, he enjoyed the killers running around in his own mind, partially because it was a distraction from his own inner monster. Hannibal could tell after Hobbs the reason why Will had left his job as a cop before. He knew if he killed, he wouldn't stop. And Hannibal had seen that. First, Will killed Hobbs. And then he tried to kill Stammets. 

Will often dreamt of murders, of killing. He had told Hannibal as much. Just as he admitted that he liked killing. 

Hannibal liked it too. 

"You seem certain of your fate."

Will turned back to him. "Are you not?" 

"I'm not certain of either of our fates, Will." Admitting that he didn't know something was difficult for Hannibal. Except with Will. 

Will sat up then, favoring his right arm. Hannibal was well aware of the damage Will's right arm had taken over the years. That was the arm he was stabbed in as a cop. Hannibal had seen the small scar as he was cleaning Will's wound. Part of him was bothered by the fact that he knew someone so intimately, and that someone else knew him so intimately in return. Not because he didn't want to be known, but because he so badly did. And he felt a terrible hunger within him for just that. He was afraid that if his hunger was only teased, barely satiated, he would become ravenous only to be denied. He didn't want that. 

Will was watching him, looking over him as though he were seeing Hannibal differently than he had before. Or maybe he was seeing him as he always had. 

"You're not going to kill me?" 

"Are you going to kill me?" 

"I told you how I would kill you." 

Hannibal had been right then. There was a hint of smug satisfaction within him but he pushed it down. Now was not the time for smugness, even if Will was used to it. 

"You would be much happier if you relaxed with yourself, Will." 

Will's eyes flashed. "You say that as if I have a chance of walking out of this room." 

"You have every chance." 

Will's right hand flexed at that and Hannibal knew exactly which memory his mind brought forth. It was Hannibal who bandaged Will's hands after Randall Tier. It seemed it was Hannibal who was always there to care for Will's injuries, even if it was only him sitting next to a hospital bed. 

Except for one injury.

_Don't go inside, Will. Stay with me._

He had asked Will then to stay, and Will responded that he had nowhere else to go. Strangely enough, Hannibal thought that sentiment quite true for them both. Technically, they had everywhere else to go. But neither truly did. 

"Then why haven't you left?" Will was watching him closely. "You could have gone anywhere. You could have left me for Jack to find. You could have been long gone, taken your freedom, and run."

"Why did you tell me to run?" 

Will opened his mouth to answer, likely a practiced answer he had prepared to give to Hannibal. It would be a lie and they both knew it. 

"I wanted you to run." He answered quietly. "And I wanted to run with you." 

"We've run now," Hannibal answered, skimming over the much deeper meaning that Will had alluded to, more than once. 

"Where will we go?" 

"Where do you want to go?" 

Will didn't answer that, only shifted himself and winced slightly. Hannibal rose then, setting aside the notebook he had been writing in, and moved to the edge of the bed. Will made no movements to shy away as Hannibal shifted the other's shirt to look at his arm. There was a pile of supplies next to the bed that Hannibal had readied just in case. He didn't want to risk infection. Will watched him, leaning slightly toward him almost subconsciously. Hannibal cleaned the wound, checking it, before applying ointment and bandaging it again. Normally, GSWs weren't stitched unless it was severe. Will was lucky. Or rather, Chiyoh was an excellent shot. The damage to Will's arm was minimal. 

Hannibal smoothed over the bandage as Will winced, but he didn't pull away. 

Hannibal thought back to the day before. 

_Kill me if you want. But fuck me first._

Hannibal had felt the ghost of Will's lips the whole night. 

As much as he had wanted a relationship with Will, a deeper one, one like the relationship they had now, he wanted to leave the idea of physical intimacy in Will's hands. He would be content with the rest of his life never having someone again if only he could be close to Will. 

He began to pull away, only to be caught by one of Will's hands. 

Will's grip was like a vice as he held Hannibal's wrist, keeping him from moving too far away. Hannibal hadn't administered pain medication in some time. Will was fully conscious and aware of his actions now. 

Hannibal winced slightly as he shifted his stance, moving to lean over the other just a little more. Like he had the day before, he found he was offering himself to Will, to take and do with what he wanted. Hannibal was always one for control. And only with Will, was he willing to relinquish it. 

Will's hand tugged at his wrist, causing him to shift forward slightly. Hannibal set himself on the edge of the bed as Will sat up. Their eyes were locked as Will began to lean in slightly, slowly, as if he were afraid Hannibal might back out and he was giving him the chance. Hannibal, however, was far less hesitant. He lunged just as Will had done the day before, their lips crashing together. Will's returned kiss was just as needy, though albeit less sloppy, than the day before. Hannibal dragged himself more onto the bed, glad to have the weight off his injured leg as he pressed closer to Will. 

Will's injured arm shifted, grasping lowly at Hannibal's waist as his other hand moved to cup the back of Hannibal's head. He felt fingers twist into his hair as he grasped Will's body, hauling him closer. He would be content like this. An eternity of this would be enough to satiate his hunger. 

But apparently not Will's.

Will was moving closer and closer. Hannibal shifted his hand, pressing against Will's lower back. At that, Will began struggling with the blankets, pulling them off him where they pooled at his waist and shifting closer to Hannibal. He could feel Will's injured hand begin to move downward, ready to rest on his thigh when he paused in mid-air. The other broke their kiss, looking downward. 

"You're hurt." 

"I'm all right." 

But Will was still focusing on his leg as though he could see through the fabric of Hannibal's pants. Hannibal hooked his thumb under the other's chin, forcing his head up. Will's eyes were clouded with emotion as he shifted himself. Hannibal was suddenly drawn closer, their lips meeting again. Whatever had gone through Will's mind — which he surprisingly didn't know — was enough to renew Will's efforts. The other tugged him closer, pulling them until they were both lying on the bed. Will pulled Hannibal on top of him, using his own leg to keep Hannibal's elevated and from touching anything. 

Hannibal was wary of Will's arm, the two of them equally damaged in different ways. And how accurate that was. 

"Will," Hannibal began. He wasn't certain that between the two of them and their injuries if either could tolerate the pain that would come down the road they were traveling. 

"Shut up," Will chided.

If it were anyone else, they would be dead. But with Will, he found his rudeness endearing. And slightly arousing. 

Will's hand gripped the fabric of the shirt on his back, pushing Hannibal's body back down. Their lips met again. Will's other hand was gripping Hannibal's forearm, clinging to him. And he was clinging to Will just as equally. The other's hand began to trail downward, running over Hannibal's body. How many times had he longed to explore Will's body to know him in this way even if he would have been content without it. But God did he want it. He wanted Will. 

Will's hand continued lower until it moved between them. 

"Will," He tried again, attempting to pull away even though Will's lips chased him. "I don't think-"

Will cut him off with another kiss. "Trust me." 

"Always." He answered immediately. 

Will's hand continued between them, and Hannibal's own followed. It had only taken a second to understand what Will was wanting at this moment, a way to satisfy them both without pain. At least, not yet. They fumbled one-handed with clothes, as their other hands were far too busy clinging to one another. Hannibal couldn't help but let out a hiss of air as Will's hand brushed over his cock. He leaned slightly, pressing his forehead against Will's. He had killed, fought for his life more than once, and yet Will Graham could make his heart race and his breath magically vanish from his chest.

Will's fingertips brushed over his cock, teasing him at first. Hannibal managed to free Will, a far easier task than it had been for Hannibal as he had dressed the other in sleep pants whereas he had dressed for the day. Will groaned slightly as Hannibal's hand wrapped around him.

They began slowly at first, the two of them sharing breath between them and low moans. Will's movements were slow, but sure, as though he were trying to draw it out. Hannibal's were the same way until they weren't. He should have been content with this as he was before. But as he suspected, once he was given a taste, he was ravenous. He wanted more. He wanted Will coming undone in an altogether new way under him.

His movements began to speed, moving up and down Will's cock with more fervor. Will mirrored him, focusing on the head of his cock for a moment before trailing his hand up and down Hannibal's length only to focus on the head once again. If this were a race, Hannibal was certain he would find himself finishing first, even though he didn't want to. Will's head tilted upward, capturing Hannibal's lips once again.

He had been with plenty of people before. Hannibal certainly had a hedonistic side that was more than evident in his art — all forms of his art — and that also translated over into sex. He had been with men and he had been with women. He had been with people who identified as other genders. It didn't matter to him. He coveted beautiful things, wanted to have them for his own. But never had he, even with something so simple as this, felt as though there was a deeper meaning in the act. Sex was sex to him. But this didn't feel like sex. Even if it was so little it was so much more. 

Their other hands shifted as best they could until their fingers finally intertwined. 

Will's kisses became more desperate as he followed every time Hannibal tried to pull apart to let them breathe. Will's hips were slowly bucking up into his hand. It was dry, for both of them at first, but it didn't stay that way. Will's cock was leaking pre-cum and the more he stroked, the more he found the glide of his hand becoming easier. He too was rocking his hips into Will's hand. 

He didn't know how long it was as they kept up this slow languid pace between them when Will's hand stopped its movements. 

Pleasure had been building in Hannibal's body, starting low as though it were building from his feet and slowly moving into his head. It felt as though one of Will's touches was actually everywhere.

Will's hand stilled Hannibal's as well. After a moment, he shifted his hips, taking them both in hand. Hannibal understood quickly, wrapping his hand around Will's. They began to move in tandem, hips bucking and hands shifting over each other's cocks. They returned to their kisses, far needier than the actions of their hands and lower bodies would suggest. 

The new sensation, of feeling Will so close like this and their combined movements, was enough to increase Hannibal's pleasure. He was rocking against the other, feeling his cock slide both along the skin of the other's length and his hand. It was intoxicating. To even be this close, to be this intimate. He would never be able to return to anything before. Or anything else. 

It would only be Will. Just Will. His Will.

Will's other hand squeezed his, holding on tightly. Hannibal mirrored him. They would lose feeling in their hands given their relative strength and Will's injury but he found himself not caring. He just wanted-

He just needed Will. 

Will trapped Hannibal's bottom lip between his teeth, pulling at it slightly before letting go and returning to their kiss. Hannibal wasn't certain he had a mind anymore. He was just feeling, acting, wanting.

Will's hips began to buck faster, mirrored by the movements of his hand. Hannibal increased his movements, wincing slightly at the pain in his leg. Part of him marveled that he was willing to be in pain for Will. With everyone else, he ignored the pain, setting it aside to be dealt with later. But he would and had shown his pain to Will who took it for his own.

Will moaned against his lips, gripping them both a little harsher as his hips bucked. Hannibal wasn't complaining though as he broke away from their kiss to instead bury his head in Will's neck. He inhaled, finding a scent distinctly Will to greet him.

"Did you just smell me?" 

Hannibal moaned, burying himself in Will's neck more. "Difficult to avoid." 

Will's resulting moan was louder as his body tensed under Hannibal. Why Will's orgasm, which was now spilling over his and Hannibal's hands, was enough to bring him over the edge and was something he knew was a result of just how closely they were intertwined. Will's body arched up into his as Hannibal found his teeth sinking into the skin of Will's neck. 

They made a mess between them, and would both need new clothes after this. But Hannibal was strangely content to stay pressed against Will, their hands intertwined next to them. 

Will was breathing heavily under him. 

"Hannibal," He whispered. It was only the second time he had ever said Hannibal's name to him, always calling him Doctor or Dr. Lecter. "Stay with me." 

"Always, Will." He shifted himself to press another kiss against the other's lips. "Always." 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://neurowriter14.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NWriter14)


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